


Lovely Declarations

by honestgrins



Series: Dashing and Deadly [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Day Three: Reunion, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, axgweek, post-8x05 ish, the bells are ringing but the real action is happening back at camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 22:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20240977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestgrins/pseuds/honestgrins
Summary: Gendry makes it to King's Landing as the ash begins to fall, but it's the injured rider escaping the city that has his attention.





	Lovely Declarations

Gendry watched in horror as dragon's fire tore through the city. He'd resented Jon's request that he lag behind with the supply caravan, left out of the fighting in case the Baratheon name came in handy to rally reluctant houses behind Daenerys' claim to the Iron Throne once they dispensed with Cersei. But as he choked on the smoke from the far edge of the northern camp, he couldn't help but send a prayer of thanks that he hadn't come so far just to die in Flea Bottom after all. "Davos!"

Perched on a hill, the old sailor held a hand over his mouth. "This wasn't how it was supposed to be. The bells are ringing. It's over."

"But it's not," Gendry bit out. They could see ash falling like snow inside the walls, the abandoned and burned buildings all too quiet. Any human activity had just...vanished. "What the hell happened?"

"We managed to rush out most of our men, though war got the better of some," Davos answered grimly. "Our healers and our cooks were unharmed, but they have their work cut out for them."

Rage building in his chest, Gendry gave a sharp jerk of his chin. "Not if she didn't leave any survivors for them to care for."

Davos sighed heavily, but shouts arose before he could share any words of wisdom. A horse was riding through the gate, its rider barely holding on. From so far away, it nearly looked like Jon, and they both started running down to camp. By the time they arrived, a few of the soldiers had managed to get the new arrival to a tent, urgently calling for a healer. "It's the princess," one muttered anxiously. "There's blood, too much."

All the breath left Gendry in a rush as fear fell like a stone in his stomach. "Arya?"

In the week it took to prepare for leaving Winterfell, she'd been noticeably absent. Mortified over his proposal and her reaction, he figured she was just avoiding him. Irritating as it was, he understood and tried not to focus on his stupid, broken heart. Bursting into the tent, however, Gendry realized how futile that effort had been; even covered in ash and blood, Arya Stark made his stupid, broken heart clench. Grabbing a rag, he moved a bucket of what looked like fresh water next to the cot where she lay. "May I?"

Her eyes opened, not looking a bit surprised to see him. "You're alive," she breathed, that soft expression overtaking her face. Gendry didn't trust that look, though. The last time he fell into those pools of silver, she rejected him. Soundly. 

If only he didn't love her.

"I was hanging back with the supplies in case this turned into a siege," he explained as he started gently cleaning her face. She was just staring at him, and he wanted to cry with relief that she was mostly alright. "You're supposed to be in Winterfell."

Arya swallowed, seemingly uncomfortable. "I had a list to finish." A tear fell from the corner of her eye, and Gendry ran his thumb down the streak it left on her cheek. "Sandor made sure it didn't finish me."

"He's..."

Nodding, her jaw clenched. "I need to tell you something. To explain." Gendry froze, but she grabbed his wrist before he could pull away. "Please," she sighed. "I owe you this."

Sadness threatened to swallow him whole, so he narrowed his focus to the worrisome gash on her forehead. "You don't owe me anything, m'lady."

It was supposed to be a lighthearted jape, something to send them back to a time when things were easy. Simpler. However, Arya didn't offer an immediate refusal of the title; she merely looked at him with those soft, soft eyes and tightened her hold on his wrist. "I'm not a lady," she said, frowning at his instant wince. "I'm not, not the way Sansa is or even Lyanna Mormont, may she rest in peace." Unshed tears thickened her voice, and it took everything in him not to look away from the wound he was cleaning. "But if I had to be one, I'd want to be yours. Could only be yours, really."

His heart jumped into his throat, even as he tried to force it back down where it belonged - where it had a slight chance of surviving whatever she had to say next. "Who's making you be anything, Arya? Seven hells, you just survived a fucking dragon. You can do whatever you want. I just wanted to be there with you."

"I know." She sounded so defeated, and all the anger Gendry had yet to process wanted to lash out on the nearest anvil. But she was too tired to cover a flinch of pain as he wiped away more blood, and he wasn't willing to let go of her just yet. "I want that, too."

Blinking, he traced a light finger over the near dent in her skull. "You're hurt, probably not thinking clearly," he joked, a little breathless.

Arya glared at him. "I can do what I want, right? Then I want to be with you," she said. "Unless you've changed your mind about me."

"Of course I haven't," he sputtered as he finally met her defiant gaze. "But- I don't want you to make you into something you don't want to be."

Her mouth tilted into a half-smile. "I survived a fucking dragon," she threw back at him. "No one can make me do anything." She leaned up, wincing at the effort until he gently pushed her back to the cot. 

"Lovely declarations and cockiness aside," he teased, probably looking the heartsick fool he surely was for her, "you really should rest. We can settle this when you're healed."

But her fingers tangled into his cloak and tugged him down toward her. "The details can wait," she agreed. Pulling him closer, she brushed his nose with hers. "This, I need right now."

Grinning, Gendry set the rag aside to cup her face. "Whatever you say, m'lady."

"Shut up, m'lord."


End file.
